Scars
by Duckfeat
Summary: Wounds don't always heal. Thanks for your patience. The final chapter is up.
1. Default Chapter

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Hope you enjoy this. It should be approximately four to five chapters. But please, don't hold me to that. I know it won't be as long as my first story. 

Sara and Grissom are in the early stages of a relationship, when she receives a phone call that brings back past uh, stuff. 

Please review.

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"You can't beat me, Ms. Sidle. You should know that by now."

"I can and I will, Dr. Grissom. You're getting just a touch too smug." 

"Put your money where your mouth is."

Sara tossed two quarters into the pile of nickels and dimes on the coffee table, shifted her legs and fixed her opponent with an icy gaze.

Grissom noted the stakes and re-adjusted the worn baseball cap he donned during their games. 

"I think you're bluffing." That said, he matched her fifty cents and took a drink of beer. "Call."

"You asked for it." Sara couldn't help the evil grin that erupted as she laid down her hand. "Full house. Jacks over tens."

Grissom cocked his head slightly before laying down four of a kind.

"Alas, my sweet, I win again."

"Oh, that is so not fair, Griss. The one time I get a decent hand and you end up with four dinky little twos. I should know better than to play with you."

"Yes, you should," he grinned and collected his winnings.

"Watch it, buster. 'Play' may extend to include more than just cards. Weren't we progressing to the next step?" Sara smiled seductively.

Grissom's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "We still are, aren't we?" He couldn't help the stammer in his voice.

She shrugged.

"You uh, wouldn't hold this against me?" He was close to perspiring.

"I might not hold anything against you. Ever."

Without hesitation, Grissom returned his winnings to the table and pushed the mound of change toward Sara. "You're a cruel woman, Sidle."

She laughed at his desperation.

"And if I accept this money, just what does that say about my character, Griss?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but her sparkling eyes silenced him.

"Don't push it, Grissom."

He grinned and leaned in for a kiss that quickly escalated.

The phone interrupted their truce and reluctantly, Sara grabbed the portable.

"Hello."

Grissom noticed her body tense as she rose from the sofa. Her expression turned grim. He stood and moved beside her.

"Yeah, OK. No, no, I'm glad you told me. Yeah. No, really, it's OK. I'm fine. Love you too, Mom."

Sara hit the off button and laid the phone on the counter. She rubbed her forehead briefly with her right hand as if trying to forestall a headache.

"What is it, Sara?" 

She glanced at him before walking to the stereo and hitting some buttons. 

"Nothing, Griss. A friend of my brother's died."

The speakers came to life with Oasis.

"I'm sorry." He struggled to say something, anything else. "Accident?" 

"No, uh, suicide." God, the words sounded strange to her ears. Sara could

sense Grissom moving closer to her. "Listen, its no big deal. He was a neighbor. Someone we grew up with." She hit a button on the remote and the sound blared for a moment before dying.

"You all right? Feel like talking?"

"I'm fine, Grissom. I think I'd like some time alone. OK?"

He nodded but wasn't at all sure it was OK. Grissom was more than aware that crowding Sara would only serve to push her farther away.

"Thank you, Griss."

He stepped forward to give her a hug and kiss, only to have her jerk away from him. His eyes expressed the concern he felt.

"Sorry," she said softly. "Just nerves."

She gave him a quick kiss, nearly missing his lips altogether. Grissom was still trying to digest her actions. He studied her as she pulled back, noting her pallor and tension. He didn't want to leave. Finally, he found his voice.

"Call me if you need anything?"

"Yeah," she nodded absently.

Grissom picked-up his jacket and opened the door. Stepping outside, he realized they hadn't been seeing each other long enough for him to insist that she wasn't all right. Three weeks of dating, kissing and touching didn't give him that privilege. 

But still, his mind reasoned; they'd been friends for well over ten years. Didn't that afford him the right to be concerned about her behavior? Of course it did. Before he could turn his head, the door closed gently behind him. Out of habit he listened for the click of the lock. Grissom's mind was a mix of emotions that he couldn't begin to decipher. He gripped his keys nervously. Should he go back? No, she needed time. His mind screamed that something was not right. Again, he chastised himself; she needs time. 

****

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Sara flipped through a stack of CD's before finally flinging the pile to the floor. Her mind raced. Mom called. Ben killed himself. Big deal. Damn. Why did he do it? I know why he did it. Fucking bastard. Am I glad he did it? Yeah, I guess so. He deserved it. She felt that. Ben killed himself. Stupid bastard. Why? Sara knew why. He couldn't live with what he was.

The feelings of almost twenty years ago came back with a vengeance. Sara extended her hand and watched the subtle tremor. Damn. How dare he get the last act in all this crap.

Sara had never been much of a drinker. She'd partied in college and knew it could be an excellent escape mechanism. She reached above the fridge and opened the small cabinet. Catherine had brought over a very good brand of vodka shortly after the Hank fiasco. She hadn't heard of a Cosmo until then. Somehow, they'd managed to laugh the day away. 

Her hand closed around the bottle and she was surprised that it contained less than half of its original contents. Pulling a glass from the cabinet she filled it with vodka. Sara brought the drink to her lips and took a large swallow.

"Here's to you, Ben."

Her face scrunched into a bitter expression as she swallowed. Quickly, she grabbed a bottle of water to rid her mouth of the alcohol taste.

Sara carried the glass back into the living room, but didn't feel like sitting. She downed the remainder of her drink and offered up her empty glass in a backward toast.

"May you rot in hell."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grissom couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he should have said more to Sara. Opening his front door, he tossed the keys on the counter and reached for the phone. No, he thought. She needs time. Space. Sighing, he ran his hand nervously through his hair and crossed to his bedroom.

They had agreed to take their relationship slow. Emotionally and physically. Once they'd admitted mutual feelings for one another, both seemed determined to do whatever necessary to nurture them. 

In many ways, Sara and Grissom new each other better than some couples married for years. They seemed to have an innate ability to read and interpret one another. Still, it did little to make up for the fact that both were extremely private people, with guarded pasts.

Sara trusted Grissom with her life and vice versa. Trusting each other with their hearts was another story. So, they took it slowly.

Grissom grabbed the phone once more, before shaking his head and returning it to the table. This had been a rare night off for them. Sara had taken him to her favorite Mexican restaurant for a late dinner. They'd returned to her apartment with the intent of playing a friendly game of poker. Grissom hadn't minded in the least, since their card games usually ended with them on the sofa making out like teenagers. 

There had been much flirting and innuendo at dinner and both seemed to sense the need and desire to take their relationship to the next level. Once back at Sara's apartment, they'd relaxed into their routine card game, letting the banter and playfulness begin to seduce them. Then, the telephone rang.

He'd hurriedly gotten over his disappointment at the interruption once the nature of the call became apparent. 

Now, as he glanced at his wristwatch, and noted that it was only 1:15 AM, Grissom picked up a book he'd been reading and plopped down on the bed. Maybe he should have stayed, despite her protests. Just to offer comfort. Yeah, like she would have allowed that. Sara was definitely her own person. 

Grissom felt his mind drifting, but it was welcomed. He wanted to fall asleep early so he could stop by Sara's before shift. 

****

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It was a few minutes past noon when Grissom knocked on Sara's front door. He was fairly certain she wouldn't mind him showing up unannounced. He'd considered phoning first, but feared she would just brush off his concern. 

The first knock went unanswered. Surely she's not still sleeping, Griss thought. After having a night off, it was usually her habit to get up fairly early and catch up on errands before work. Following another couple of raps on the door, it was pulled open by a disheveled looking Sara.

"Hey," he offered her a tentative smile.

"Hey yourself. I wasn't expecting you was I?"

He chuckled at her perplexed look. "No, but I hope I'm welcome anyway." 

"Of course, Griss." She motioned him in and promptly yawned. "I would kiss you, except I have morning, afternoon and evening breath."

"No problem." He surveyed the room, noting the pile of playing cards were they'd left them, a mess of CD's spilled across the floor, and a nearly empty fifth of vodka on the kitchen counter. "Rough night?" He asked rather brusquely.

"You could say that. In fact, if I wasn't still a bit drunk, I'd probably be really hung over."

Grissom shot her a questioning look that she either chose to ignore or simply hadn't noticed.

"Why don't you take a shower and I'll start some coffee?"

"Yeah, OK."

"Hungry?"

"God yes," she mumbled. "There may be some waffles in the freezer."

He nodded and watched her disappear into the bedroom. Grissom sighed, knowing there was probably a great deal more to the phone call than he'd first thought.

TBC


	2. Corona is a good thing

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Hi guys. This is proving to be a difficult story to write. Not that it's mind-bending or anything, just frustrating. I will not give up. Thanks for your reviews. Again, I expect about three to four more chapters.

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Sara stood under the hot water, trying to clear the mental fog. Ben was dead. Good. No, it wasn't good, but it was better. Better than him continuing to live and breathe while Keith… She willed the thought from her mind.

First things first, she silently chided herself. She knew Grissom would ask about the call. About why she was so upset last night. Damnit. This was why she didn't do relationships. As much as she loved being with him, accountability to another human being scared her to death. She wasn't certain that would ever change.

Drying quickly and throwing on a T-shirt and jeans, she ran her fingers through the damp curls on her head. "Whatever, I'm not up for the blow dryer." Great, Sara, now you're talking to yourself."

Taking a deep breath, She walked into the living room. Grissom sat on her sofa, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Her coffee cup had been filled and was sitting on the table.

She managed a half grin. "I don't smell waffles."

"Afraid not. The ice crystals made them a lost cause."

"Yeah, I need to get to the store."

"Headache?" He shoved the cup of coffee toward her and gestured to the seat next to him.

"A bit. Grissom, don't make last night into a big deal."

"The call bothered you enough to get drunk."

"What are you, my guidance counselor? My life is not an after school special, Grissom."

He looked at her, taken aback.

"Forget it. I know how you need to dissect things," she said sharply.

"What'd I do to deserve that, Sara?" He stood, confusion contorting his face.

"Nothing," she sighed, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. "I said it wrong. Damn, can't you even give me the space to digest that someone I know has died?"

Grissom took a deep breath and walked to the kitchen counter, his back to her as he ran his fingers along the cold tile. "I can give you space, Sara. But, I become concerned when you won't even give me the barest of information about something that's affecting you. When you push me out of your life."

"Payback's a bitch, huh?" She couldn't believe the words had actually left her mouth. She saw him flinch and her stomach hurt. They had agreed, weeks ago, to put the past to rest.

Grissom was somewhat stunned, but not altogether surprised. Still, he thought, hadn't they been over this? He felt her shutting him out, driving him from the room. Well, no one ever said relationships were easy. Pulling a twenty from his wallet and tossing it on the counter, he turned again to the living room.

"I'm not sure why you're dredging up old issues, Sara? Unless it's to avoid talking to me about what's really bothering you." His features softened as he watched her sit down on the sofa and clutch a throw pillow to her chest. "I'm willing to listen if you want to tell me about your friend."

Her head shot up, anger igniting her brown eyes. "Ben wasn't my friend. In fact, I'm glad he's dead."

Grissom took a chance and crouched in front of her. "Who was he, Sara?" His voice wasn't more than a coaxing whisper.

She studied her fingernails and hugged the pillow tighter.

Trying a different tact, Grissom moved back to sit on the coffee table. "Obviously this person meant something to you. Good or bad. I just want to help."

"Listen, Ben is nothing to me or my family. I don't need or want your pity."

Grissom sighed. "Okay, I won't push you. I'm gonna leave. You want to take the night off?"

Sara shook her head. "I'll be in."

"I uh, ordered a pizza. It should be here soon. Money's on the counter."

"Thanks."

"You know where to reach me." He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease a burgeoning tension headache.

"Yeah."

She felt Grissom's eyes on her as she heard the doorknob turn. He paused.

"Sara, it wasn't pity. I've never pitied you and I never will."

She exhaled forcefully, but it simply wasn't in her to ask him to stay. The door closed and she wondered vaguely about this cruel person who seemed to have taken over her body.

Try as he might, Grissom couldn't put their earlier conversation out of his mind. He had a handful of mundane errands to run before shift, but the minute the task was completed, his thoughts slipped back to Sara. Had he tried too hard? 

'…I'm glad he's dead.' Those words haunted him more than anything. That just wasn't the Sara he'd known all these years. 

He struggled to wrap his brain around what connection she could have had with this Ben person. Each scenario seemed worse than the first. His heart fought the urge to return to her apartment and wait out the stubborn silence. The investigator in him realized he needed to be patient. 

Finally, convinced that he would lose his mind if he gave the situation any more thought, Grissom made a U-turn and headed for the lab. At the very least, he reasoned, it would give him a jump on work and maybe let his emotions rest.

Sara's hangover was beginning to get the better of her. Grabbing a cold bottle of water, she pushed the untouched pizza to the far end of the coffee table. Lowering her body onto the sofa without jarring her throbbing head proved all but impossible. She growled in frustration and pain, but sleep soon got the better of her. It was a restless exercise in futility as one nightmare after another had her twisting and turning. A particularly disturbing image sent her arms flailing. The momentum carried her body from the sofa to the floor, with Sara's forehead cracking loudly against the leg of the coffee table. She was wide-awake. Sitting upright against the couch, she let the small amount of blood trickle down the side of her face. The memories flooded back to her, playing out as if on a screen in front of her. Too tired to fight them any longer, Sara let the images come.

**__**

The giggles reverberated. She was sure they could be heard on the next block. It must be nerves. Benji was actually paying attention to her. He wanted to hear the new U2 tape she'd bought. Sara couldn't believe he was actually paying attention to her. Ben was seventeen and a senior. If she could just kiss him, like she'd dreamt about. Oh, god. It happened so fast. His lips were rough. Not how she had imagined. No. No. They should be smooth and gentle. And what was he doing with his tongue, trying to choke her? It wasn't supposed to go this far. Get off me. She felt him pressing into her through her clothes. "No, Benj, get off me!" Sara remembered screaming before Keith came in and all hell broke loose.

She visibly shuddered at the memory. Pushing herself upward, her stomach started doing flip-flops. Shit. As much as she hated to call in sick, Sara resigned herself to the inevitable. Looking at the clock, she realized that shift actually started fifteen minutes ago. Damn.

Just like ripping off a bad-aid, she thought. The phone was answered on the second ring.

"Grissom."

"Griss, I, uh don't think I can come in." A wave of nausea hit her and she struggled to control her gag reflex. 

"You okay? I was going to give you five more minutes before I started to wonder where the hell you were. And, you know, that leads to a worried Grissom," he smiled, hoping she would return his humor.

"Sorry, I'm a little unwell."

"Do you need anything? I'll come by during break."

"Pepto-Bismol please." The words were out of her mouth before she could even decide if she wanted to see him. Well, she thought, seeing him doesn't mean spilling my guts to him.

"Gotcha. Why don't you try to catch a nap?

"Been there done that. Didn't work out"

"I'm not even going to hazard a guess as to what you mean."

"Good," she replied.

"Do you need me to come by sooner?"

"No, Griss. I'm gonna take a bath or something."

"Okay, see you soon."

"Thanks." She hung up without waiting for a reply. Sara couldn't quite figure out why Grissom put up with her. Feeling quite a bit more than pathetic, she went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Four bottles of Corona that had been there forever caught her attention. She knew the old saying about 'the hair of the dog,' and felt miserable enough to grab a bottle. Opening it, Sara tried to keep the memories at bay. They flooded in as she poured the beer into a mug. The foam swarmed over the top, as she became lost in the images playing out.

****

What the fuck are you doing? Let her go! Sara heard the voice and felt a moment of relief. Keith was here. Keith would protect her. Benji's body pressed hard into hers as he hoisted himself to his feet. Thank God I wore jeans, she thought. Keith would handle everything.


	3. Trust me I promise I won't break a hip

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Thanks for the awesome reviews. Sorry I'm slow in posting, but again, this is proving difficult to write. Again, probably two more chapters after this one. Enjoy and please review. Peace.

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"You in the middle of anything right now, Gil?"

Grissom, closing his cell phone, looked up to see Catherine looming over his desk, case file in hand.

"Uh, no. Sara just called. She won't be in tonight. What's up?

"Wow, I'll mark that on my calendar. 'Sara Sidle misses work.' Sick?"

He cocked his head at her, hoping it conveyed that he was eager for her to get to the point. "Yes, Cath."

"Anyway, I'm having trouble with the bullet track on my vic from last night. I'm working on a three-dim recreation if you'd care to take a look?"

"Sure." Grissom stood and followed Catherine out the door. He hoped she wouldn't catch on to his detached manner tonight. A laugh almost escaped his throat as it occurred to him that he doubted anyone other than Sara could tell if he was acting more remote than usual. The thought was both pleasing and depressing.

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Her hot bath had eased the ache in Sara's muscles as the beer had dulled her headache. Pulling on blue sweats and a long-sleeved white tee, she grabbed a large toothed comb to tame her wet hair. Catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sara startled.

"Oh, fucking great, Sidle. Looks like you went two rounds with Tyson."

She touched the large purple knot and small cut on her forehead. The hot water had washed away the blood. 

"Well, it looks about as good as I feel. Okay, Sara, just stop talking to yourself."

Tossing the comb on the counter she headed for the kitchen to grab another beer. She had to admit that the previous two had done an admirable job confronting her hangover. Sara realized an added benefit was that the flashbacks of Ben had dulled. The scene was no longer on a constant loop in her head. Glancing at the unopened pizza carton, she realized her nausea was gone as well. 

Grissom. She'd almost forgotten he was coming over. Unlocking her front door, Sara turned off the bright kitchen light and reclined on the sofa. She clicked on the television more as a distraction. Maybe some inane sitcom would keep Ben's face from popping into her mind every two minutes.

**__**

She never should have let him in her room. What did she expect? Like he was only coming up there to listen to music. Right. Stupid, Sara, stupid. She'd wanted him to kiss her. But his hands. His hands were everywhere. Under her sweater. Ripping her bra. No, Benji! No! He was touching her through her jeans as he crushed his frame onto her. His knees were pinning her arms. No! NO!

"Sara?"

"No!" She sat bolt upright on the couch, arms thrusting forward in defense and knocking Grissom off his tenuous perch on the edge of the coffee table. Sara's eyes flew open in time to see him tumble unceremoniously to the floor.

"Jesus, Sara!"

"What the hell, Griss?!" You just scared the crap out of me."

"So you shove me off the table?"

"No. I mean yeah, but I didn't mean to. Are you hurt?"

"I'll live," he sighed, and righted himself on the floor. 

"I must have dozed off. I was dreaming. You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"For God's sake, Sara. I'm not that old. It's not as if I'll break a hip at the slightest fall," he cocked an eyebrow to further emphasize his point. "And you weren't dreaming, you were having a nightmare."

She cocked an eyebrow of her own. 

"I was knocking for at least a minute until I heard you yelling." Grissom paused and watched as she raised the beer to her lips, downing the remaining half bottle.

"You left your door unlocked. You know better than that."

"No lectures, Griss. Please."

"Then stop doing things that put me in that position."

"Okay, truce. Please?"

He grabbed a bottle of Pepto from his jacket pocket and extended it to her.

"Is that the best you can do by way of a peace offering? That's pathetic," she managed a half-hearted smile.

"Somehow I think you'll be begging me for it in another couple of hours."

"You do mean the Pepto, right? Sara enjoyed seeing Grissom's face turn a deep crimson. It amazed her that she could still embarrass him so easily.

"You tell me." He watched her mouth drop slightly. Before she could catch his smug grin, he stood, grabbed the untouched pizza box off the table and turned toward the kitchen.

"Uh, can you get me another beer, please?"

"I'll make a deal with you, Sidle. I'll get you a beer if you eat what I cook for us." 

"Fine, but only because I'm hungry. And only because you're a fabulous cook." She rose from the sofa and stretched as Ben's face flashed in her head again.

"One of us has to be," he couldn't help laughing as he opened the pantry. Pulling out a jar of marinara and a half-full box of pasta, he was slightly stunned that she had both essential ingredients.

Sara watched him from the center island, forcing herself to concentrate on the here and now. Despite the past twenty-four hours and feeling as if her life was upside down, the man now searching her fridge still warmed her heart. This was the Grissom she'd fallen in love with so many years ago. This was the man she wanted in her life. Needed in her life. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind as he closed the fridge. 

"I hope you're not trying to hurt me again?"

"Not even close," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He turned around and gently lifted her to the island. Capturing her lips as she snaked her hands into his hair, the kiss quickly deepened. Grissom reluctantly pulled back after a couple of minutes.

"Sara, we really do need to talk."

"I know," she kept her tone even. "It may take me awhile, Griss, but I do want to talk."

"Fair enough."

"Thank you."

"Spaghetti sound good?"

"Yeah."

Grissom switched on the overhead kitchen light and grabbed a pot from a bottom cabinet. Turning to the sink to fill it with water, he looked over at Sara, a smile gracing his face. It quickly turned into a frown as the light revealed what he'd missed earlier. 

"What the hell happened to your head?" 

"Don't make a big deal. I fell off the couch and hit the coffee table."

He made a move to examine the darkened knot on her forehead, but she batted his hand away.

"Another nightmare?"

She shrugged and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No, I was asleep."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I was asleep but cracking my head on the table woke me."

"I'll repeat the question. Did you lose consciousness?"

"No."

"Why didn't you call me? You could have a concussion."

"Damn, Grissom, I'm not a suspect, so stop the interrogation. I hate that shit."

"I'm not interrogating you, Sara. It looks really bad. You could have at least called me."

"Oh, so we could fight some more?"

Grissom stepped toward her and brought his hands to either side of her face. She turned her head and attempted to pull back. His hands remained.

"No, because I love you. And I think you love me. And it's the kind of thing that people who love one another share."

Sara sucked in her breath. "Don't change the subject. I'll tell you about the call when I'm ready." 

"I'm not going to let you go."

"You'll have to if you push."

Grissom stepped back and resumed preparing dinner, his eyes deliberately avoiding her.

Nice job, Sara, she silently berated herself. You can't even make a good relationship work. Grabbing the beer Grissom had set on the counter, she hopped down and scanned the small apartment. Suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety, she headed for the bedroom. It was dark and suited her mood. Besides, she thought, Grissom was hurt and would probably leave shortly to nurse his wounded ego. He was better off not being around her for awhile anyway. I've got shit to deal with, Sara contemplated as she leaned against the headboard of her bed. I wonder if they've told Keith about Ben?

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Grissom turned as Sara left the kitchen. He'd expected her to maybe log on to the computer, since she seemed so agitated. Surfing always calmed her down. He was mildly surprised when she went down the hall and didn't return. 

For the umpteenth time, Grissom wished she could tell him what the phone call meant. He'd known Sara over ten years and knew that she would drink to relieve extreme stress or mental pain. If her abundant energy couldn't be expended doing the work she loved, it built to an uncomfortable level. She would push herself to extremes. He knew her tendencies, but he wasn't certain that she knew his.

He'd pushed too far. Studying the boiling water, he tossed the pasta in, while turning on the burner beneath the marinara sauce. At the very least, she'll eat, Grissom thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He would give her space as soon as the food was cooked. It was obvious that Sara didn't want him here 

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Sara's thoughts went in ten different directions as she downed the last of her beer. She could feel a heaviness, almost like Ben pushing down on her again. She wondered about Keith. Mom hadn't mentioned him. Of course, that wasn't unusual. Dad may have said more, but she was loath to call him and create more difficulty between her parents. Was Grissom even here or had he left? Looking at the empty bottle, she tried to remember if she had anything stronger than beer. Brass had given each of the CSI's a bottle of expensive scotch for the holidays. Sara was fairly certain she'd tucked it away in one of the kitchen cabinets.

TBC


	4. Brass gives Scotch for the holidays

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Hi everyone. Thanks for being patient with me. I went away for the long weekend and didn't get much written. I've been trying to post, but I'm getting hit with the 'site overload' message. Anyway, thanks again for the reviews. You're awesome and I'm happy you like the story. One more chapter after this with possibly an epilogue. Thanks for hanging in. Peace.

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Grissom finished drying his hands and quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled a few words on a notepad by the phone. Dinner was cooked and in a container in the refrigerator. He wasn't sure if Sara had fallen asleep in the bedroom or simply didn't want to be bothered. Either way, he was didn't want to remain. Grabbing his leather jacket and keys, he turned the handle on the front door. 

His eyes squeezed shut and he growled to himself. He knew he couldn't leave without making sure she was okay. As much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted to hurt her for hurting him, he needed to know she was all right. Turning around, his eyes locked on Sara. She was leaning against the wall in the shadows of the hallway. For some reason, that irked him more than her simply remaining in the bedroom. She was watching him.

"Were you gonna leave without saying goodbye?"

"I left you a note."

"Oh."

As he took two steps in her direction, Sara suddenly wanted nothing more than for him to hold her. She started toward him but froze as he picked-up his cell phone from the end table.

"Forgot my phone."

He searched her eyes for any indication that she wanted him to stay, but her face was a mask of indifference. She broke the gaze. Grissom slipped quietly out the front door.

Sara felt her throat burn as she choked back the anxiety that had been brewing for the past twenty-four hours. She crossed to the door and bolted the lock. 

Resisting the urge to scream, she entered the kitchen and dared herself to read the note. Sara was more unnerved than she was on their first date. It could easily be a few lines to the effect of, "Sorry, not willing to deal with your bullshit anymore. Goodbye." That was a very real possibility. What choice had she given him? 

Steeling herself with little success, she grabbed the paper. 

__

Sara,

Dinner's in the fridge. I'm going back to work.

Grissom 

Well, she thought, it doesn't get much more trite than that. Realizing he hadn't given up on her completely, she sucked in a deep breath, before beginning the self-pity. 

"Oh, c'mon, it's not like you really wanted him here anyway. Every time a guy starts to care, you shove him out of your life. Face it girl, you've got issues. One of those would be that you talk to yourself."

Sara actually laughed as she opened the pantry. After a minute of searching, her hand locked onto the bottle of Scotch from Brass. 

Padding to the cabinet she grabbed a glass and filled it halfway. She took a healthy gulp and managed to swallow it.

"Christ, I knew there was a reason I never drink this crap. It tastes like shit." 

Picking up the portable phone she tucked it under her chin. Cradling her drink, the bottle of Scotch and a pint of bottled water to her chest she managed to make it into the living room. She felt slightly pathetic for being too lazy to make a second trip. Settling the armful onto the coffee table she fell back into the sofa and wrapped her fingers around the phone. Sara stared intently, willing it to ring and be Grissom. The tears came then and she reached for her drink.

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Grissom sat in his car outside her apartment. He had been arguing with himself for five minutes. Finally, turning the ignition over, he started driving toward the lab. This was why he didn't do relationships. Make yourself vulnerable and get your heart handed back to you much the worse for wear.

He was having a hard time concentrating on the road. Why was he letting her push him away? Because it's easier. That was a given, but Sara needed him now, his heart argued back, even if she couldn't say the words. Hadn't he said, not thirty minutes ago, that he loved her and wouldn't let her go? And what had he done? Left her alone. Depressed, anxious and slightly drunk. 

"Well at least there wasn't any beer left in her fridge. Yeah, keep talking to yourself."

He was fairly certain that Sara wasn't in the habit of having liquor on hand and the thought bolstered him somewhat. She would be fine. Even if she had a bad looking bruise on her head. Pulling off into a parking lot, he took out his cell and punched in a pre-set. It was answered on the third ring.

"Catherine, listen I've got the beginnings of a headache. Can you take over for the rest of shift?" It wasn't really a lie he rationalized. Sara had been known to give him headaches.

"Good. Appreciate it, Cath. I need to sleep this off."

Flipping the phone closed he pocketed it and pulled out of the lot. Grissom willed himself to stop thinking about the woman that had turned his world on end. She would be all right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sara flipped through a worn day planner until she found the right number. Dialing carefully she drummed her fingers on her legs as she waited for an answer.

"Uh, hi….I'd like to speak with Keith Sidle, please."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Sidle's in his room. It is late." The older woman's voice sounded a bit haggard, as if she'd had a rough day.

"Yeah, sorry…I wasn't thinking. This is his sister, uh, Sara Sidle."

"Again, I really can't wake Keith."

"Oh, right. Can you, uh, give him a message tomorrow? Tell him I called?"

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible."

"What's that mean? I'm his sister."

"We've been asked to refer all callers to Keith's parents. I have that number if you'd like?"

"No thanks. I have my parents number."

Sara's initial reaction was to hurl the phone at the wall. Forcing herself to place it gently on the table, she looked around the room in desperation. This was all her fault. Even her mom thought so. Why would she censor Keith's phone calls if she thought otherwise? Damn.

She thought about calling her mom but knew it would be nothing but platitudes that would make her angry. Sara was so tired of feeling angry. 

Snatching up the phone she hit two buttons and held her breath.

**__**

"Grissom."

"I need you."

Her admission was greeted with an unnerving silence. About to disconnect the call, a series of knocks on the front door startled her.

**__**

"Just open the door, Sara."

She stared at the phone, her brain not quite connecting everything. Grissom had hung-up. Damn him. Realization dawned as the knocking became more insistent.

"Sara?"

**__**

She couldn't help the tears as she heard his muffled voice from just outside her apartment. 

Grissom heard the click as the deadbolt was turned and watched as she pulled the door toward her. He stepped inside, not quite sure what to do. Sara had retreated, her cheeks stained with tears. 

Making up his mind, he took two steps and brought his arms around her. She leaned into him, the strong smell of Scotch assaulting his nose.

Stroking her back gently, Grissom allowed Sara to relax and get her breathing under control.

"Thanks for coming back."

"I shouldn't have left."

"Not like I gave you a reason to stay."

"Sara, your perfectly understandable inability to vocalize what you need during an emotionally vulnerable time, does not let me off the hook for taking the easy way out."

"That's a Grissomian sentence if I've ever heard one."

"I like to throw one out every know and again. Keeps you on your toes."

He was rewarding with a small laugh as Sara sighed into his chest.

Grissom pulled away slightly and took in the woman before him. He could feel the tension bouncing off of her body and her eyes were a mixture of pain and grief. If he could take any part of it away he would. He guided her toward the sofa and she sat stiffly. Temporarily ignoring the bottle of Scotch, he focused on Sara.

"I'm scared, Griss."

"Talk to me."

"I want to, but I'm afraid."

"Of me?"

"No. It's just…I don't want to frighten you, Grissom."

"That statement alone scares the hell out of me, Sara. I won't leave. I promise."

"Please don't make promises you may not be able to keep."

He rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I don't care what you tell me. I will not leave you."

Sara met his eyes briefly and he could still see the doubt.

Pulling away from him, she reached for her drink and Grissom frowned.

"Sara, I'm not here to fight, but you shouldn't be drinking. You could easily have a concussion."

"I'm fine, Griss."

"First of all, no you're not."

Sara shot him a look of mild annoyance as she swallowed almost the remainder of her drink. 

"What I mean is that you're trying to work through what is obviously an emotional issue and I want to help you. I can't do that if you pass out."

The look went from mild annoyance to barely contained hostility and Grissom did his best to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry, Sara, but you're making me nervous and I'm not saying what I mean very well."

A single tear slid down her face. "I know, Griss. The booze doesn't solve a damned thing. Just makes it a bit easier to tell you the story."

"I know. Please, just talk to me?"

Pushing herself deeper into the pillows of her sofa, Sara took a deep breath.

Grissom made a move to grasp her hand in his, but she pulled away.

"Griss, uh…I just have to say this and I know I couldn't stand it if you stopped holding my hand because of what I tell you. It's easier for me if I can't feel you pull away physically.

Grissom nodded to her, realizing there was nothing he could say to assuage her.

"I called Keith, but he was asleep and my mother won't let him have messages or calls. I can't figure out what to do. I mean he has to know, but I don't think they'll tell him…uh damn, I know they won't tell him."

Grissom struggled to piece together pertinent information.

"Sara, can you go back to the beginning? Is it all right for you to do that?"

"I'll try."

"Okay, take a step back, if you can, and tell me the basic facts."

She buried herself further in the cushions and her voice took on a detached, hollow quality.

"I was thirteen. My brother Keith was seventeen. He'd been accepted to Stanford. I'm not positive, but I think he would've gone pre-med. Keith wasn't just smart, he was…uh jeez, he was just really outgoing and funny and he played soccer and the drums. My parents used to kid me that Keith got the brains and social skills while I got only the brains. They were right. I was a nerd. Once, I overheard Benji tell my brother that he was a parent's wet dream. I didn't understand what he meant at the time."

Sara looked down and seemed to get lost in the memories.

"Who's Benji?" Grissom took a chance. 

Surprised, but broken out of her trance, Sara traced a seam on the cushion and continued.

"Uh, Ben Stillman lived down the road from us. He was Keith's age. They were best friends since like kindergarten. When I was a kid, he was almost like an extra brother. I uh, didn't know it then, but he didn't have a good home life. I guess that's why he always spent more time at our house. I found out much later that his father had a nasty temper and would take it out on Ben and Mrs. Stillman."

"Did your parents know what was going on?"

"My mom said she had no idea, but I've never believed that."

"Why not?"

"Mrs. Stillman was her best friend. She had to have suspected something." 

Sara shifted uncomfortably as her jaw clenched involuntarily. Grissom made a move toward her but she put up a hand in protest.

"Well, by the time I turned fourteen, boys took on a whole new meaning for me. Maybe I was a late bloomer or something, but suddenly I started seeing Benji in a new light. He wasn't just the guy that always picked on me for tagging along, he was cute."

"You developed a crush on him."

"Big time. Don't get me wrong, despite being a science geek I didn't know all that much about sex." 

"Well that sounds about right for a young teen twenty years ago."

"You're being kind, Griss. I was just plain naïve. Caught up in some romantic notion. I knew the mechanics of sex, but never realized that people would do those things without being married."

Despite the serious tone of the conversation, Grissom's lip twitched into a brief smile. He was pleased to hear a small laugh escape Sara's throat.

"I guess that does sound funny," she admitted. 

After a few seconds, Sara swallowed hard and massaged her temples, any hint of levity long gone. Again, Grissom wanted to reach for her, but he checked himself.

"I'm still here, Sara. Whenever you want to continue."

"Did you ever read Rupert Brooke?"

"English poet. First world war?"

"Yeah."

"I've read some, not much."

"I've always loved his work,"

Sara closed her eyes. "…I was a better target for a kiss…"

Grissom studied her. Though pushed tightly into the sofa, she held her body in a guarded possition.

"Of course, I'm taking that line way out of context." Her eyes shot open and connected with Grissom's.

"It's from a war poem, but I've always connected it to Ben."

"What happened, Sara?"

TBC


	5. Scotch doesn't do much for pain

****

Hi guys. Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry I'm a bit late in getting this posted. The next chapter will be sooner. Thanks again. Enjoy.

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Sara leaned forward to reach for her drink. A fraction of an inch of Scotch remained in the glass.

Grissom rose quickly and before she could reach for the bottle of liquor he grabbed it and went into the kitchen. He wasn't sure how she would react.

"Why don't you pour yourself one, Griss? It looks like I've been cut off."

"You have been," he said evenly, preparing himself for the explosion.

"That's okay. My head hurts anyway," Sara admitted.

"Which I'm sure has nothing to do with your coffee table encounter earlier?" He returned with two bottles of water and took a seat beside her. 

"Absolutely not," she sighed and ran her fingertips over the raised knot. 

Grissom's brow creased when he saw her wince. He reached a hand toward her head.

Sara pulled back. "Don't, please?"

"Would you at least tell me if you're dizzy?"

"No."

"No you wouldn't or no you're not?"

"Griss, stop trying to confuse me. And no, I don't think I'm dizzy. It's hard to tell. I've had a few drinks."

He exhaled forcefully; hoping the frustration he felt wasn't entirely lost upon her.

"Sara, do you, uh, want to continue, or would you rather take a break?" 

"If I don't finish this now, I'm not certain I will."

He nodded and settled himself against the cushions as she pulled further away from him, assuming her previous posture. Grissom also noted the return of her detached expression.

"You know, it feels so strange to me that I could ever feel that way about Ben. Of course, that's twenty-twenty hindsight. I just wanted him to notice me. I was stupid."

She paused to smooth the left leg of her sweats, hands playing nervously over the material.

"You know, Griss, it plays in my head like a movie? Sometimes though, it's more like slides. The kind people used to take of their vacations and then bore their neighbors with? Sometimes it's like that. It depends."

"On what?"

"I guess on what my brain can handle."

Grissom's stomach took a dive as her last statement hit him. She'd said it so earnestly and without emotion. Looking at her again, he realized that it was physically painful for him to watch her sit so rigid. He found himself mirroring the posture in an absurd attempt to take on some of her obvious discomfort.

"Sara, would it be any easier if you described what happened? I mean the way we talk through a crime scene?"

"I'm not sure I can do that." She turned and met his eyes briefly. 

"Just tell me what you see, what you remember. I'm right here if you need me."

Grissom hoped he sounded convincing. Truth be told, he was terrified of not being able to provide the support she needed. He was terrified that he would freeze when Sara needed him most.

She nodded and pulled her feet beneath her body. Her eyes closed and Grissom knew she had distanced herself from the retelling.

"I bought this U2 tape that had just come out. I was home for a few minutes before Benji banged on the back door. I let him in. He was looking for Keith. I laughed and told him that Keith and my mom had just left to pick up groceries. I thought he knew that on Thursdays they always went to the store so we'd be stocked for the weekend guests. Benji seemed different that day…I remember my face getting really red. He kept staring at me."

Abruptly, Sara's eyes shot open. Standing and walking to the stereo, she picked up one CD case after another without returning any of them to the rack. Soon there was a pile of discarded music scattered at her feet.

"I don't know what I can stand to hear." It was barely above a whisper, but he heard.

"It's okay, Sara."

"I'm not sure I believe you, Griss."

She shuddered slightly, then lowered her body to the carpet in front of the entertainment center. Sara's back was to Grissom as she leaned elbows into knees and rested her chin in her hands. 

He thought briefly about moving closer to her, before concluding that the physical distance between them was something she needed right now.

"Up until that day, I didn't think Ben really noticed me. It's not like I was a knockout or anything. Sometimes I think that I was giving out some sort of signal. Maybe I was. Maybe I did entice him. My mom…well…I still don't know. I could have been sending him signals."

Grissom chose to ignore the comment. 

"I was wearing a light blue tank top, but no makeup. I mean, uh, I just didn't usually wear makeup, so I…He said he would wait for Keith. I remember being really embarrassed when he kept staring. I got a soda from the fridge just so I could be doing something. Ben heard the U2 tape coming from upstairs and said he'd been meaning to buy it, but, uh, he wanted to hear all the songs before, you know, spending the money."

Sara took a deep breath and pulled her knees to her chest. She turned to Grissom, her expression one of guilt. "Benji asked to come to my room and listen. I said it was okay, but I was wrong. I was really wrong."

Noting the utter hollowness and pain in her voice, Grissom again restrained himself from trying to physically comfort her. She was still so tense and full of self-recrimination, he knew any move on his part would be rebuffed.

"No, Sara, he was wrong."

"Don't say that. You weren't there. You can't know that?"

"You're right, I wasn't there. That's why I need you to tell me."

"But I'm biased, Griss. It happened to me. Maybe I'm making myself look better?"

"Sara, you've always been extremely hard on yourself. I don't believe for one minute that you'd distort the truth."

Rubbing her eyes vigorously, she didn't acknowledge Grissom's statement, but did continue her narrative. 

"He was behind me as we went to my room. I was glad because he couldn't see how nervous I was. I thought maybe he would kiss me when we'd gotten upstairs. That's what I'd always imagined. Benji kissing me. It would be really soft and sweet. Stupid, I know. But, that's what I thought…soft and sweet. When we got to my room, he closed the door. I should have known what that…I mean, damn, why did I let him come to my room? See, Griss, I was nervous going up the stairs. I knew something was going to happen. I knew." 

Sara balled her right hand into a fist and she struck the front of the stereo cabinet. 

Grissom jumped at the sudden movement and cringed as he watched her recoil in pain. "Sara, don't. Just don't." 

"Yeah, bad idea. I was picturing Ben in front of me."

Grissom went to the kitchen and filled a small sandwich bag with ice then wrapped it in a towel. Returning to the living room he offered it to Sara, who shook her head.

"Humor me," he sighed.

Taking the ice pack and placing it gently on her hand, she continued, almost as if nothing had interrupted her.

"Ben grabbed me and he, uh, started kissing me and he pushed me onto my bed. I yelled, but he hit me. He was heavy. His body was really heavy. I remember thinking how could anyone be so heavy and run so fast on a soccer field."

Grissom watched as Sara rocked herself. He doubted she was even aware of the gentle swaying motion. 

"He ripped my tank top off and did the same with my bra. Every time I yelled he hit me. My mouth had blood in it and Ben still tried to kiss me. I thought he'd gone insane or something. Then…then his hands reached into the waistband of my jeans. I was kicking and...he would hit me."

Grissom shifted forward to rest his face on his hands. The degree of helplessness he felt was overwhelming. A bitter taste rose in his throat as he thought of what she'd gone through. 

"I tried to get out from underneath him. I did. He was just so heavy. I couldn't get my breath and some stupid thought about suffocation crossed my mind. He'd gotten my jeans down and his…his hands…he was hurting me. It hurt. I must have screamed again because he hit me really hard in the jaw and I blacked out. When I opened my eyes, Benji…he was unzipping his pants and…uh, he tried…"

Sara stood, the ice pack flying from her hand and the CD's scattering. Grissom startled briefly, then pushed himself from the sofa and prepared for whatever she was about to do.

Her back remained turned. "I'm sorry, Griss. You don't want to hear this."

"Yes, I do. Please, Sara, I want to hear."

"Why?!," she spun and faced him. "Why the hell would anyone want to hear someone reliving a nightmare?! This isn't The Jerry fucking Springer show!"

He took a step toward her and she clumsily tried to back up, but soon found herself leaning against the wall for support. Grissom took another step.

"Sara?"

"I'm fine. Please, I'm okay." She held up her hand in a stop gesture.

Grissom would have ignored the hand if he hadn't met her eyes. The pain was there, along with something else; a hardness he's never seen before. She didn't want his comfort. Grissom tried to reassure himself that it was a situational response and not indicative of her feelings toward him. 

Standing his ground, but dropping his hand to his side, Grissom never broke eye contact.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sara. I don't want to push you."

Her posture changed dramatically, as fatigue seemed to overcome her. "I know that. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"There is nothing wrong with you, Sara."

"Oh, really? Sit, Grissom. I want to tell you the rest. You're obviously willing to hear what I did."

"You don't have to finish this…I mean, not now."

"Yes, I do. Please, just sit down."

Grissom took a seat on the edge of the sofa and watched as Sara paced the living room. The energy coming off of her was almost tangible.

"Benji was going to rape me. I knew that. The door was thrown open and Keith came in. He must have heard me screaming. I wish he hadn't." Sara's voice was louder and took on a sense of urgency, as if she was reliving every moment as she paced.

Grissom wasn't about to say or do anything to interfere. His pain at hearing the story couldn't hold a candle to her having lived it.

"Keith grabbed Benji. He was screaming at him. I remember being so glad that the weight was off my body. I crawled a few feet away and tried to cover myself. I didn't want my brother to see me. I was glad for a second that he was preoccupied struggling with Ben."

Sara stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, her eyes downcast.

"I'd never seen my brother's face so angry. Keith stopped yelling when Ben shoved him against the dresser. I still think Benji was trying to run. He looked scared. My brother was a couple of inches taller than him. Keith, he…uh…he glanced once at me before tackling Ben. I wish I could say for certain what I saw in his eyes. Anger and confusion more than anything, I guess."

Sara looked up, but focused on a far wall rather than Grissom.

"I remember they wrestled for what seemed like forever. I yelled at Keith that I was okay. He held Benji down and punched him in the face. I can still hear that loud popping sound. My mom, uh, she ran into the room. She glanced around and seemed to draw a conclusion. I'll remember what she said as long as I live."

When nothing more was forthcoming from Sara, Grissom gently prompted. "What did she say?" 

"My mom, uh, she looked at me and said, 'What have you done?' I guess it wasn't difficult to figure out with me sitting there clutching a torn shirt to my chest."

"Jesus, Sara. I mean, you know she was wrong?"

"I think she was reacting like any mother would."

"No. She was blaming you."

"I'm not stupid, Griss. But you have to understand my mom walking in on me mostly naked, with my brother beating up a guy that had his pants unzipped."

"Sorry, but your attempt at justifying her statement is wasted on me."

"Oh, and you're a parent?"

Grissom shifted uncomfortably. "No, but God help me if I walked into a similar situation and accused my bruised and battered daughter of causing herself to be attacked."

Sara was briefly taken aback by Grissom's tone, not to mention his statement.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter what my mom said. What matters…damnit, I will not cry."

"Sara?"

"Just let me finish. Please?"

He nodded as she pushed herself from the wall and resumed pacing.

"Ben managed to shove Keith off of him. When Benji tried to stand, Keith shoved him into my desk and I thought the fight was over. I uh, didn't even see it at first. I didn't see what Benji picked up. I heard him grunt as he rushed Keith and raised his hand. I remember thinking that he was so stupid, trying to take on my brother again. Keith actually wasn't even focused on him until the last minute. I think he was catching his breath. Ben bashed him in the head with the paperweight. There really wasn't a sound. Keith just crumpled. There wasn't any blood. I remember thinking that Keith's head should be bleeding. There was no blood. He fell like a rag doll. There was no blood. Nothing really. He looked like he was asleep. My mom started screaming and Benji ran out. Keith…Jesus…Keith…there was no fucking blood…Oh Jesus! I can't do this…I can't…I'm sorry Grissom."

Sara ran from the living room and Grissom went after her. She slammed her bedroom door and he heard the lock click as his hand reached the knob. His heart raced as he resisted pounding on the door. 

"Let me in, Sara! Please?"

"I can't, Grissom. I'm sorry."

TBC


	6. It hurts

****

Hi guys. I tried to post this a few days ago, but ff.net wouldn't let me. I'm sure many people have had difficulties. It kind of worked out okay, because I ended up writing more and that lead to re-writing. I think that's a cool thing and I hope people are still willing to read it. Thanks again for your reviews. You guys rock. I swear I'm going to wrap this story in one more chapter, with maybe an epilogue.

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Sara leaned hard on the bedroom door, catching her breath. She'd panicked in the living room; the scene of Keith so vivid in her mind. Grissom was calling for her to open the door. Sara barely registered his voice much less took note of the fear in it. Ignoring the knocking, it was all she could do to breathe properly and fight off the images flashing in her mind. She wasn't certain how long she remained braced as she was. Time seemed to speed up or slow down as her brain processed individual pictures: the accusation on her mom's face, Keith dribbling the soccer ball down field, Benji's shirt full of sweat as he leaned over her, the blankness of her brother's face after he'd been…

Sara shuddered violently before noticing that the apartment had grown still. No knocks at the door, just the slow in and out of her breathing. 

Grissom's voice broke the quiet. "Please let me in?"

It was said with such gentleness and concern, Sara had to choke back a sob after the initial startle. In a move that surprised her, she reached for the lock and twisted it clockwise. Having granted him entrance, she stepped back. A moment later, the knob turned and she found herself facing a very tentative Gil Grissom. If so many buried memories weren't vying for her attention, she would have cried at the mix of utter bewilderment and fear on his face. His normally clear eyes were clouded and she wanted nothing more than to comfort him. What she did was continue to stand where she was, arms plastered to her body, her gaze breaking from his.

Grissom was at a loss as he stared at Sara. He wasn't good at this; never had been. At least she'd unlocked the door, he reassured himself. He had no idea what he would have done if she hadn't. He did know that she was scaring him. Grissom noted her posture and that she would no longer look him in the eye. It wasn't really a defensive pose; rather more a sagging defeated posture.

While the analytical side of Grissom's brain continued to process information in order to reach a rational conclusion, the emotional side made him take two steps forward and wrap Sara in a strong embrace. He wasn't entirely certain who was deriving more benefit from the hug. She hadn't reciprocated the action. Maybe it was selfish of him; this one sided taking of comfort. Grissom was about to pull away when Sara slowly wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him tightly against her body. He let out a gentle sigh and raised one hand to stroke the back of her head. They held the embrace for several minutes. 

Sara turned her mouth toward his ear. "Are you okay, Griss?"

"Yes," he mumbled, not certain he trusted himself to say more. His brief puzzlement at her asking after his welfare was tempered when he remembered that this was Sara. Sara who felt others' pain more acutely than her own. The woman who would stay up for days on end to ensure that every victim had a name. The CSI who pushed herself so hard that one either kept up or was swept aside.

"Sara?" 

"Yeah?"

Grissom pulled back slightly so he could see her face. "I'm sorry if I pushed you too hard…made you talk about…"

"You didn't…please…you didn't make me talk about anything. I did this thing that...that…" She had to stop as her eyes welled with tears.

"What, 'thing' Sara?"

"This," she removed her arms from him and met his eyes before gesturing toward his face. I did this thing that's causing you pain."

"You talked to me, Sara. You told me about something horrible that was inflicted upon you. You didn't **_cause _**me pain."

"I shouldn't have told you. It was a mistake that happened a long time ago and I don't want you to think less of me."

"Sara, listen to me. Hearing your story hasn't hurt me or us," his hand moved quickly, gesturing between their bodies. And I certainly don't blame you or view you any differently."

"I can see it in your eyes, Griss."

"What you see is me not knowing how to help you; me not knowing how to be the person you need. That's pain I created myself, Sara. 

"I don't know what to do next," she whispered.

"What do you need to do next?"

"I need to…I think I need to finish the story."

"I'm right here."

"And still willing to listen?"

"Always." Grissom reaffirmed this by leaning his forehead into hers, then placing a kiss on the top of her head. He took her hand in his and began to lead them from the bedroom. Sara resisted and pulled him toward the bed.

"I feel more comfortable in here," she explained, letting go of his hand and sitting back against the headboard.

Grissom, not quite sure how to respond or even where to sit, remained standing.

"I'm sorry, Griss. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You're more than welcome to sit on the bed or you can pull a chair over."

Once again surprising himself, Grissom stepped to the foot of the queen size bed and sat on the edge, angling himself so he faced her. He reached out to grasp her hand but she pulled back. 

"I'm sorry, Sara. I guess I should get a chair."

"No, no, you're fine…it's okay you're on the bed. It's me. I just can't hold your hand if I'm going to finish this. You might pull away."

His face contorted briefly. "You said that before. I won't pull away and I won't leave you. Do you believe me?"

"It's not whether I believe you, Griss. How can I explain…damn, I can't explain it." Sara ran a hand through her hair. "I just need to get through this and it's, I don't know, easier if I don't set myself up for more pain."

Grissom felt as if his stomach had turned to ice, but he took a deep breath and tried to give her a look of reassurance. "It's okay. Start whenever you want." He hoped his voice hadn't wavered as much as he thought it did.

She nodded and pulled an extra pillow against her chest. He saw the now familiar glaze cross her face and knew she was reliving the event.

Gently, so he wouldn't startle her, Grissom pushed off his shoes and crossed his legs beneath him. Knowing his knees would ache later he nonetheless adopted the more casual position. If it made Sara relax even a bit, it was well worth the price. 

"My mom was screaming. More like shrieking. She didn't move. I looked around for my shirt but couldn't find it. I must have opened a dresser drawer and grabbed a tee and shorts. It's kinda funny, because I have no recollection of doing that, but I remember that my hands were shaking as I pulled the shirt over my head. I knelt by Keith. He was so still. I knew to check his pulse. It was really rapid. There was no blood. Did I tell you that? There was no blood, just a dent outlined in bluish purple. Keith had…there was this indentation on his upper forehead, beyond the hairline. I ran my fingers along it…it was…. there was a hole. Skin covering a hole. I thought I'd be sick. I uh, yelled at my mom to call an ambulance, but she didn't move. I pushed past her and used the phone in the hallway." Sara shivered noticeably and hugged the pillow tighter.

Grissom pushed his shoulders into the headboard as he began to picture the scene. These people he'd never met were suddenly quite real to him. Mrs. Sidle screaming from the doorway, Keith unconscious, and a battered Sara forced to take charge of a real life nightmare. Grissom could count on one hand the number of times in his adult life that he'd cried. He felt his eyes growing heavy with unshed tears at the thought of the pain and guilt inflicted upon a teenage girl. Rubbing his forehead, he realized Sara had been silent for awhile. 

"You all right?" He cleared his throat when he realized his words had cracked a bit."

She snapped her head around to him as if being startled out of a trance. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just got lost in thought for a minute."

"Me too," he admitted.

They locked eyes, each trying to gauge the other's emotions. He saw raw pain and bewilderment on her face and she noted that his slightly reddened eyes were filled with a mix of compassion and a flash of something she couldn't quite pinpoint, but it made her uneasy.

"Are you upset with me, Grissom?"

"God, no, Sara. What gave you that idea?"

"You looked for a second like…I don't know…kind of mad, pissed-off."

He marveled again at her ability to read his emotions, but castigated himself for allowing any anger to show in the first place. Grissom considered his response carefully, not wanting Sara to misinterpret his words.

"Stop thinking and just answer me," she shifted uncomfortably while watching him.

"Sara, I'm not upset or angry with you in any way shape or form. Yes, I am angry about the man who tried to…"

"…He was just a kid, Griss."

Fighting back the string of slurs that came to mind, he gritted his teeth before replying. "No, he was a man. A cowardly young man who took advantage of your naiveté, beat you and attempted to force himself upon you."

"Grissom, I invited him to my room. I should have known what would happen."

"No, your behavior was that of a normal teen and his was that of a social deviant."

"Stop being so damned scientific, Grissom! Can't you just, I don't know, talk from your…can't you just talk to me like I'm someone that matters to you and not a psyche experiment gone wrong?"

Grissom drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Okay, Sara. I'm more than pissed that this Ben son-of-a-bitch beat you and tried to rape you. I'm goddamned incensed that your mother attempted to blame you and that your brother was seriously injured…and I…I just want to take away your pain, but I can't!"

"I never asked you to take away the pain."

"I know." He grasped his head with both hands, massaging his temples forcefully. "I didn't mean to raise my voice."

"You're human. I think it's allowed."

"It may be allowed, but it wasn't appropriate. I'm sorry."

"I'm telling you my worst nightmare, Griss. I don't think Miss Manners has any guidelines about which reactions are appropriate."

He felt her hand envelope his forearm. She pulled until their fingers were intertwined.

"You don't have to, Sara."

"Yes I do. I trust you, Grissom."

He nodded and rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "Please, don't think you don't matter to me. I couldn't stand that."

"Thank you," she whispered, before lowering her gaze and continuing in a soft monotone. "The ambulance arrived along with the police. An officer took my mom and me downstairs while the paramedics stabilized Keith. I started telling him what happened and he radioed for a female officer. I think he knew it was difficult for me to talk to him. He had me sit on the sofa and got an ice pack for my face. The paramedics brought Keith downstairs on a stretcher. His eyes were still closed and my mom started screaming again. One of the cops…I think one of the cops took her outside. I started to follow Keith, but the female officer walked in and made me sit down again. I got angry that they wouldn't let me go with him. The cop must have been frustrated with me, because finally, she stopped asking questions and said I needed to go to the hospital." Sara shrugged, but gripped Grissom's hand tightly.

"You were badly beaten, Sara." The words were soft and had a subtle undertone of pain that he hoped she wouldn't notice. "And the police must have wanted to do a rape kit."

"No, no I told them he tried but…uh, Keith stopped him."

Grissom swallowed hard, willing himself to remain strong for her. "Still, the officer was trained to recognize shock. You were injured."

Without acknowledging his words, she continued. "Someone must have bagged the clothes that Ben ripped. One of the cops had them at the hospital. I don't even remember the ride there. A doctor sewed up the cuts on my face. He wouldn't tell me anything about Keith. My mom came into the room to sign the discharge papers, but she didn't even look at me. The doc told her I had a concussion, but no broken bones. He said I was lucky. My mom told him that she needed to go and find out about my brother. He was in…uh, they'd taken him to surgery right away. She left and I followed."

A tear rolled from the corner of Sara's left eye. She didn't seem to notice. Grissom gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and fought the urge to rub his thumb across her cheek and wipe away the small trail of pain.

Sara jerked her head suddenly, as if shaking away bad memories. She focused intently upon Grissom. "Keith was in a coma for eight days. Part of his skull was pushed into the frontal lobe. His brain had swelled and they didn't know if he was going to wake up. If he did, the doctors said he wouldn't be the same. Keith would…uh, he would function as a six-year-old. Of course, I really didn't understand all the medical terms they were throwing at my parents. I learned quickly though. Keith wasn't going to be Keith anymore."

A sob escaped Sara's throat and Grissom moved forward and gathered her in his arms. She buried her head in his chest as the tears came.

"I'm here, Sara."

"I prayed for him to die," she choked out between sobs. "Grissom, I prayed that my brother would die."

He stroked her back softly and pulled her closer.

"I knew he wouldn't want to live like…I just wanted him to die…then I wanted to trade places, so I was lying in the bed hooked up to all the machines…I wanted to die. I hoped and prayed that I would die and Keith would be Keith. I didn't get any of my wishes," she said so softly that Grissom strained to hear. 

He felt her relax into his arms as the crying was replaced by sheer exhaustion. Grissom tried to turn-off his emotions as he pulled them both toward the head of the bed and angled Sara's back against his chest. He heard her deep even breathing and pulled the quilt up over them. Kissing her cheek, he alternated between guarding her sleeping form and agonizing over what she'd been though. Grissom's eyelids grew heavy and he fought a losing battle as he adjusted his arm around her stomach, and melted into the pillow.

TBC 


	7. Always Carry Water in Vegas

****

Hi guys. Again, sorry this chapter took so long, but real life and all that kept interfering. This chapter was going to be longer, but I wanted to post before taking some time off for the holiday. I swear I'll try and have the final chapter up within a week. Thanks for the reviews. Hope you like it. Peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sara felt a hand by her throat. Benji hovered over the bed, but before she could scream, he clamped a hand over her mouth and tightened his grip. She struggled to breathe and free herself from his grasp.

Grissom awoke with a start as something hit his shoulder. Taking a moment to orient himself proved painful as his body took another blow. He pulled his arm from around Sara and rolled to his back. Without considering the consequences, he placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to rouse her from what appeared to be a nightmare. Her eyes remained shut as she swung a fist, socking Grissom solidly in the chest.

"Damn!" The yell was reflexive, but did serve to startle Sara awake. 

Rubbing one eye, she scanned her surroundings slowly. Taking note of Grissom sitting on the other side of the bed, she cocked her head. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Uh, yeah, we both did."

She noticed the quilt covering their lower bodies and Grissom's slightly guarded posture.

"Griss?"

"I'm, sorry, Sara. I fell asleep. I, uh didn't mean to be on your…"

"It's okay. I swear. Only, why are you sitting all the…oh, shit, did I hit you?! I'm so sorry, Grissom."

"I'm fine, Sara. Please, I'm all right." He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. "You were having a nightmare."

"I know, but it faded as soon as I woke up. I can never really remember. I'm sure it was about Benji." She shifted uncomfortably before meeting his eyes. "I had bad dreams after…you know, after everything."

Grissom leaned against the headboard and brought his hand to caress her hair. "I can imagine you would."

"I used to have this stuffed bear that sat on my bed. For the longest time after, uh, after what happened, I would wake up and find him leaking stuffing or half an arm or leg ripped off. Guess it was my subconscious dealing with things, huh?" She gave him a quick smile that was mostly nerves. Her eyes grew wet as she saw the understanding on his face.

He scooted closer and pulled her into his chest. 

"Funny thing was, whenever I got back from school, my bear was always sewn back together. My mom couldn't stand messy things. I guess my nightmares fell into that category."

"You need to sleep, Sara. Just try your best to not rip my stuffing out."

She graced him with a genuine smile and nodded, closing her eyes. His fingers continued to soothe her. "I'm so tired, Griss."

He lifted her head gently and placed it on the pillow. His hand continued stroking her hair as her breathing became deep and even. Resisting the urge to put his arms around her, he pulled back and wrapped them instead around his pillow. It was a poor substitute, but he managed to fall into an exhausted slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sara opened her eyes and took in the few rays of sunlight that seeped through the blinds. She felt tired, but knew she must have slept for over three hours. Glancing to her right, the clock told her it was 7:32 am. Grissom was still sleeping soundly.

Restlessness seemed to consume her the minute she'd extricated herself from the cover and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Sara's brain kicked in and she headed for the computer. The urge to find the details had been there since her mother had called, but she'd been consumed with memories. Leaning over her desk, she booted up the computer. Waiting in front of the screen was not an option. She slipped back into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of socks and her sneakers. Sara plopped down in her desk chair and was slipping on the socks as the computer screen came to life. Signing on, she slipped her feet into the sneakers, then clicked on the **_San Francisco Chronicle_** site. 

Typing quickly, she soon had the article before her.

****

Benjamin C. Stillman was found dead in his cell at the San Francisco County jail. The suspect appears to have hanged himself. A guard reported no unusual activity prior to the incident. Stillman, 37, was charged with felony battery upon his girlfriend and was awaiting trial. He was also charged in an unrelated parole violation. California's three-strike law would have applied if Stillman were convicted. He had previously served terms for aggravated assault and spousal abuse, both felonies under California law. Additionally, Stillman served time as a juvenile with the California Youth Authority.

Sara reread the blurb and hit the print button. It all fit yet still seemed so unreal. She wanted to read it from the crisp white paper; seeing it in black ink would make it real. She grabbed the paper from the printer before it had finished, smudging the URL at the bottom. 

Leaning back in the chair, she studied the story and nodded her head. Yeah, Sara thought, that was Benji. He was the boy that I enticed. I did, didn't I? God, I don't know. I know he hurt Keith. Benji killed Keith. Keith still breathed, but Ben killed him. The images swirled in her head and she stood, needing to be anywhere other than where she was. She grabbed her keys and was out the door in seconds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grissom turned in his sleep and grabbed a fistful of air. His hand settled on the empty space beside him. Opening both eyes groggily, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Sara?" He called into the hallway. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he stood and walked into the living room. Noting her keys were gone, he glanced at the clock. 9:15. Grissom tried to reassure himself that she'd just run out to pick up breakfast. There sure as hell isn't any food here, he thought. Fighting the unnamed fear that seemed to settle in his chest, he set about making a pot of coffee.

Palming a steaming mug of strong coffee, Grissom considered the facts. Sara hadn't taken her cell phone. She'd been gone anywhere between ten minutes and three hours. He castigated himself for assuming that she'd driven, simply because her keys were missing. Realizing the stupid mistake of his sleep addled brain he looked out the front window and saw her car, parked where it was when he'd arrived last night. No sign of Sara on the stairs or in the parking lot. Okay, he would wait.

Swallowing his worry along with a gulp of coffee, he noticed the computer was on. Wasting no time, he scanned the desk and grabbed the sheet of paper sitting partially atop the keyboard. Not surprisingly, Grissom tried to maintain professional detachment while reading the short article on Benjamin Stillman. Returning the paper to her desk, he again fought the emotions boiling inside. Sara wasn't here. She'd left. Damn. She was exhausted. She'd been reliving this nightmare for the past two days and was in no condition to be out wandering around somewhere. Grissom could feel the anger and fear rising in his chest. Placing his mug shakily on the counter, he tried to take a deep breath. Okay, he reasoned, I'll go look for her. He grabbed his phone and car keys just as he heard a key in the lock.

Grissom froze as he watched the door open and a rather breathless and red-faced Sara enter the apartment.

"Damnit, Sara, where have you been?"

She started to respond in a sarcastic manner until she looked into his eyes and saw genuine fear. "I uh, needed to get out for awhile and…"

"Would leaving me a note have been that difficult?" His face was now flushed with anger.

"I'm sorry, Griss. I didn't think you'd be…"

"What? You didn't think I'd be what? Didn't think I'd be worried about where the hell you were? Jesus, Sara!"

"You're overreacting, Grissom," her voice rising in annoyance.

"Oh, really," he began to pace. "Let's see, you've spent the past two days trying to deal with unimaginable pain, you haven't slept more than a few hours, you punched your stereo…"

"I'm sorry, okay! But how is yelling at me accomplishing anything!?" She grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her.

Sara's eyes were red-rimmed and the bruise on her forehead stood in stark contrast to her pale skin. Without hesitating, Grissom pulled a startled Sara into a tight embrace. "It's not accomplishing anything, honey," he whispered against her ear. "I'm sorry. I was scared."

She wrapped her arms across his back and rested her head against his shoulder.

"I know, Griss. I didn't mean to make you worry."

They held one another for a couple of minutes before Sara pulled back and kissed Grissom on the forehead. "You forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive. I love you." The words had come from his mouth before he'd had a chance to think. Grissom's breathing seemed to come to a standstill as he braced for her reaction.

"I love you too," she said quite smoothly before giving him a quick kiss. "But, I've got to get some water or I'm gonna pass out."

He resumed breathing and clasped her hand, leading the way into the kitchen. "Not too smart, Sidle. Going walking in Vegas without a bottle of water." 

"Tell me about it," she sighed and grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge. "Especially not smart when I jogged a half mile back."

Grissom frowned but chose not to comment upon that little piece of information. Sitting on a barstool beside the island, he let her finish the water before changing the subject. "Sara, I read the article on Stillman."

"Yeah, I kind of left it in plain sight."

"I just didn't want you to think I was being…"

"What, that you were being CSI Grissom?"

"Something like that," he frowned.

"Don't worry," she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. 

"Do you, uh, want to talk more? I mean, I don't want to pressure you."

"You're not, Griss. And I do want to talk. But I don't think either of us could stand me if I don't take a shower first." 

She removed her hand from his and they shared a brief smile.

TBC


	8. Long, deep, wet angst and kisses

****

Hi everyone. I apologize for not updating sooner. My only excuses are work and writer's block. I hope you're still interested in reading this. I wanted to wrap it in this chapter, but decided to post instead. I'll warn you that there's not much action (if any). It's still dialogue driven and more than a bit angst ridden. I tried to lighten it up, but am not certain I succeeded. I shall never write angst again. 

Thanks for all of your reviews. They really do mean a lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grissom heard the water go on in the shower as he settled on the sofa with another cup of coffee. He'd slept, but mentally, was drained. He wondered for the hundredth time how he could have known Sara for so many years without realizing she was sitting on a secret that filled her with such pain and guilt. Sure, there were times when he entertained, however briefly, the thought that she might have an issue in her past that made her more sensitive to certain cases; abuse, rape. But then he'd quickly reassured himself with the fact that Sara was passionate about every aspect of her work. 

Massaging his temples, Grissom leaned forward, eventually lowering his head into his hands. Had he really been that eager to justify Sara's reactions as normal? Had he been so afraid of letting himself feel anything for her? Grissom's throat constricted and he shook his head. Of course he'd been that afraid and that self-protective. Damn, they'd spent countless nights discussing their various commitment issues. A shiver went up Grissom's spine and he gave thanks once again that Sara had been patient with him. 

The ring of Sara's portable phone caused him to startle. After four rings her answering machine kicked in and he heard a voice very similar to Sara's.

**__**

"Sara, pick up. Sara? Sara? Pick up…"

Grissom reached for the handset, clicked the talk button and cut the voice off in mid sentence. "Hello."

**__**

"Who's this? I'm calling for Sara." 

"Can I take a message for her? She's uh, just stepped next door."

**__**

"And you are?"

Grissom frowned into the mouthpiece. "I'm a friend of Sara's from work."

**__**

"You work with my daughter?"

"Yes, I do. Can I take that message?"

****

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll…"

Sara stepped from the bathroom wearing a towel. Seeing the expression of bewilderment on Grissom's face, she walked toward the sofa and cocked her head at him.

"Your mother," he whispered, while covering the mouthpiece. 

Grissom noted that she seemed to be indecisive and returned his attention to the phone call. "Mrs. Grissom, I'll tell her you'll…"

Sara took two steps forward and grabbed the phone from his hands.

"Mom, it's me."

**__**

"Oh, did you just get back from next door?"

"No, I just got out of the shower."

**__**

"Well, your gentleman friend isn't afraid of bending the truth is he?"

"Please, mom, just let it go. Grissom is way too polite to tell a caller that I was in the shower."

**__**

"Oh, so now you're dating your supervisor?"

"I think we agreed that discussion of my private life seemed to precipitate fights between us. We don't want to fight. Do we?"

**__**

"Of course not, dear. I love you no matter what you choose to do."

Sara balled her free hand into a fist, took a deep breath and crossed to the kitchen. "What's up, Mom?"****

"I know you tried to call Keith. Why would…"

"He is my brother."

**__**

"You'll only upset him, Sara. You don't understand. He has a new job. Not that you'd know that."

"Again, I'm trying to not fight with you, Mom. Benji's dead and we can't relive the past."

**__**

"That's my point, Sara. What purpose does it serve to possibly dredge up old memories for Keith?"

"I'm sorry, Mom, I have to go."

**__**

"You always seem to be going somewhere. Why would you suddenly detour from your busy life and call your brother?"

"I'm not having this discussion with you. I'm just not doing it."

**__**

"Sara, I love you, but please don't bother Keith…"

"I love you too, Mom. Bye."

Sara clicked the off button and set the phone on the coffee table.

Grissom stood and made a move to approach her. "I'm sorry. I shoudn't have answered. It just sounded as if it was…"

"It's okay. I mean, I can't declare my phone off limits." The hint of a grin she gave him failed to disguise the pain in her eyes."

"I'm not going to ask if you're okay, because I know you're not."

Sara nodded before lowering her eyes. "It's just, damn, it's just that I knew she would pull this shit. She doesn't want me. Uh, she doesn't want me talking to Keith. I'd been getting along better with her, but now…now it still comes down to what I did."

"You didn't do anything, Sara."

Raising her gaze to meet his, she gave a sigh of resignation that chilled Grissom to the bone. "I did the worst thing. I destroyed Keith. I destroyed her first-born child."

"You know that's not true," he asserted, hoping she would agree.

Sara frowned and glanced down at the towel. "I need to get dressed."

The phone rang again and Sara detoured to the wall behind her desk and yanked the cord from the connection. "No more calls. No more."

He watched her walk into the bedroom. She was tense, but not out of control. Grissom pushed around the facts he knew, added this or deleted that, his brain serving as an abacus of sorts. The first time he'd heard Sara speak to her mother had been deceiving. The night she called about Stillman's suicide, he'd witnessed a shocked but unsuprised Sara receive the news and end the call with 'love, you too, Mom." It had seemed, to him at least, completely natural and somewhat indicative of a close relationship. What he'd learned since then demonstrated a strained, tenuous bond between parent and child. The woman continued to blame her daughter for the violence of twenty years ago. Christ, he groaned audibly, the guilt Sara has had pushed upon her.

"What's wrong, Griss?"

His eyes shot open as Sara reemerged from the bedroom. She was clad in a Looney Toons T-shirt and sweats.

"Uh, nothing. I was lost in thought."

"I heard a cross between a groan and sigh. Sounded as if you were in pain," she teased.

"I was."

"Why?" Sara's brow furrowed.

"I suppose because I love you," he replied matter-of-factly.

Her features clouded for a moment before she nodded in understanding. "Thank you.

Grissom stood and took a few hesitant steps toward her. Their eyes met and he saw the tears that threatened. His left arm circled her back and he coaxed her into a gentle embrace. "It's all right, Sara."

"No, no it's not. I'm pretty certain that it's never going to be all right." She buried her face into his shoulder as she could no longer stop the tears. 

He rubbed her back softly and brought his hand to her cheek as she slowly pulled away.

"I'm sorry for laying this all on you, Griss."

"Please don't apologize to me, Sara. That's what I'm here for."

"As my own personal handkerchief?" She laughed and managed a half-hearted smile.

"Of course," he grinned. "My crisp, clean, newly laundered shirts are always available for your use. Provided, of course, you return them cleaned and pressed."

"You should be so lucky, Gil Grissom." She brushed her lips against his cheek before moving to his mouth. "I love you." Whatever he'd been about to say in reply was lost as she raised a hand to the back of his head, ensuring that her exploration of his mouth continued without interruption.

Grissom responded immediately, having missed this side of Sara. His hands dropped to her body and began rubbing her softly as his mouth submitted to hers. He was more than willing to let Sara have control. The last thing Grissom wanted was to pressure her. They'd gone farther many times, but that was before the revelations of the past forty-eight hours. 

Minutes later, Sara pulled her lips from Grissom's. "I, uh, just felt like being close to you."

He brushed his moist lips against her ear. "You're always close to me, Sara. And, by the way, I love you too."

"Yeah, sorry I didn't exactly give you a chance to answer."

"It was my pleasure."

She pulled away to regard him with a serious gaze. "Thank you for listening and for not leaving me."

"I won't." He lowered his head before bracing himself for what he needed to say. Taking Sara's hands in his, Grissom captured her gaze. "Ever."

He was more than chagrined as she giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Griss. You're just sweet."

"You laughed," he raised an accusing eyebrow.

"It's just that, jeez, we're both beginning to sound like a mushy Hallmark card."

He feigned hurt. "And just when I was beginning to be comfortable with human emotions. Damn."

"It feels good to laugh, Griss."

"Well, I think I'm glad I could provide you with that opportunity."

Sara grabbed him in a bear hug, and they remained comfortably embraced until he turned his mouth toward her ear. You want to talk some more?"

"I think I need to."

Grissom led her to the sofa and she sat and leaned her back into his arms. He couldn't help but feel that he'd somehow passed a test of sorts. For almost two days, she'd refused to let him hold her hand while she'd recounted the past. He shifted and sought to pull her closer just as she leaned further into his chest.

"I don't know where to…I mean I've got all these images running around my brain, but I don't…I'm just not sure what…"

Attempting to help her focus, Grissom asked what was on his mind. "When did they arrest Ben Stillman?"

Sara paused briefly. "I remember my Dad, he told us at the hospital that the police had found Benji that evening. I remember thinking that he should have run. Isn't that weird? Thinking that the guy that attacked my brother should run. They uh, found him in the clubhouse that he and Keith had built when they were kids. My Dad said he told the cops everything." Sara's body tensed.

"He confessed."

"Well, yeah, but at the time I was just terrified by what my Dad said. I know this is going to sound stupid, Griss, but I honestly thought the police would be coming to arrest me."

Even as the depth of her guilt hit him, Grissom couldn't stop his mouth. "Why?"

"I thought maybe they'd blame me for Keith's injury. For contributing to it or something," she sighed. "I know it's stupid."

"No, it's not. You were feeling incredibly vulnerable and your parents, well your mom anyway, wasn't exactly comforting you."

Acknowledging his comment with a deep sigh, she continued. "They got Benji for malicious wounding and uh, assault and attempted rape. He wasn't charged as an adult. The courts weren't big into that yet, plus his family was pretty well known in the area. His parents got him a good attorney and he plead out. Eighteen months with the California Youth Authority plus five years probation."

"So, you didn't have to testify?"

"No. The DA waited a couple of weeks, you know, to see if Keith was going to make it."

Grissom struggled with something to say as Sara extricated herself and stood. "Benji's mom, like three days after Keith was attacked, knocked on our door. She wanted to come in, but my Mom wouldn't allow it. They both raised their voices before Mom closed the door on her."

Sara grabbed for the bottle of water, to find it empty. Frustrated, she flung the offending bottle against the wall and walked to the kitchen. She reached for the bottle of Scotch and grasped it briefly before sliding it out and away from herself. 

She felt Grissom behind her and turned.

"How's your head?" He pushed her hair back gently.

"Still attached, Griss. I don't know why."

"You up for something to eat. My careful calculations indicate that you've not consumed anything in over twenty-four hours."

"No, I had Scotch and beer."

He gave her what could pass as a disapproving look. "You've got a choice, my dear. Grissom's leftover spaghetti or takeout."

"Well, I think I'll choose the food that's made by someone who loves me."

He couldn't help the grin that crossed his face.

She couldn't help playing with him. "I think Donny Choi's menu is on the fridge."

TBC


	9. Green and Black Plaid Boxers

****

Hi everyone. I apologize for the long delay. I started work again and I barely have time to sleep. I know how much I hate it when a story I like is abandoned so I vowed to finish this piece. Thanks again for all of your reviews. They mean a lot. I know I've been remiss in reviewing the work of my favorite authors; not that I've been reading all that much. Suffice to say I'll have many wonderful pieces of fiction to enjoy when I get some time off. 

Anyway, I hope you're interested in reading the last chapter of Scars. I think I did it justice. Thanks again for your patience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sara had loved watching the momentary shock on Grissom's face turn into the lop-sided, boyish grin she loved so much. Finally, when a heartfelt laugh erupted from his throat, she leaned against the fridge and watched the sight. He'd been putting on a brave front the past day and a half, but she knew he was concerned for her. _For her._The thought floated around in her brain; someone loved her and hurt because she hurt. It was an epiphany of sorts. The thing she'd been most afraid of was now giving her comfort. Sara had always backed away from commitment and accountability in relationships, feeling vulnerable and smothered. For the first time in her life, she was allowing a man to show love for her and she wasn't running for the nearest door. 

Grissom emerged from the bathroom in boxers and a faded black tee. His hair was damp and unruly as he lowered the towel from his head. Upon seeing Sara standing a mere few feet away, he froze.

She couldn't resist a low whistle. "I was wondering when I'd see you in your shorts, Griss."

"I uh, I forgot to bring my jeans into the bathroom with me," he stammered as his face became warm. 

Sara saw the blush rising on his cheeks. "Yeah, sure."

"I did, I swear."

Sara noted the earnestness in his tone, but chose to play, trusting Grissom to humor her. "I think you just wanted me to see how sexy you are in boxers. Um, green and black plaid to boot."

Hanging his head in mock shame, Grissom nodded. "Yes, Sara, you've uncovered my devious little plot. I am a pathetic shell of a man for using such trickery on a woman of your intellect and investigatory prowess."

"Oh, go put your pants on," she laughed, then ducked as he chucked the towel at her head.

The microwave beeped and Sara removed the piping hot dish of spaghetti. It had been a minor triumph for her when she'd finally talked Grissom into grabbing a change of clothes from his truck and showering. She smiled at the thought of him sharing her bathroom space. They'd definitely smashed some personal barriers during the past couple of days. She decided to enjoy this new level. Sara and Griss. Griss and Sara. Shaking her head, she set two plates and utensils on the countertop.

Grissom emerged from her bedroom, faded Levi's now in place, hair a bit more tidy.

"You clean up quite nicely," she smiled.

"I'm in old jeans and a tee-shirt, Sara. How can you say I 'clean up…nicely?"

"Easy," she smiled, "I love to see you relaxed. And, to me, there's nothing more relaxing than shedding work clothes."

"I agree," he added before stepping forward and drawing her into his arms for a hug that evolved into a kiss.

Grissom pulled his lips away reluctantly, but continued to hold her face in a soft embrace. His eyes held hers. "How are you holding up? It's been a difficult couple of days, to say the least."

She considered carefully before answering. "I think I can be okay. Eventually."

A frown creased his brow as he realized what she meant. He couldn't take away her pain. He could help her recognize and deal with it, but he couldn't take it away.

"What's wrong, Griss?"

"I just…I guess I thought I could make the past not, I don't know, bother you…no, that's not right," he sighed in frustration. "What I'm trying to say is that I thought I could make the hurt seem less. Or even make it go away. I know that sounds childish. But…I can't do that and it…it bothers me."

"Grissom, listen to me." She grasped his forearms. "It's not your job to make everything all better. It's not possible."

"Yeah, but apparently it's still a blow to my male ego."

"Okay, I'll give you that," she paused, deep in thought. "But, you have to acknowledge that you've been here for me, despite all the Grissomish pushing away attitude I adopted." She grinned at him, but her smile faded quickly. "Most of all, you didn't run from my fear."

He pulled back, his brow creased as they locked eyes. "Do you fear me, Sara?"

"Not you, Grissom. Just certain emotions."

"Like?"

"Like being so close to someone. Close to you. I was scared that you'd leave me after hearing about Benji. And, I was scared that you'd stay. I know that makes no sense whatsoever, but it is how I felt." She lowered her gaze, not certain she wanted to see his reaction.

Grissom shrugged before pulling her closer. "I think we've got some of the same anxieties. Maybe there's something to what Catherine's been saying all these years? You know, always insisting we were so similar that it spooked her."

"Well," she graced him with a brief smile, "if you remember, our first date was an outright disaster."

"Yes it was. For two people with so much in common, we barely spoke."

"I was afraid of coming across too strong and spooking you," she rubbed her thumb along his chin.

"And, as I told you a few days later, during one of our marathon chats, I was scared to open my mouth. Even when I choose my words carefully, they sometimes don't convey what I'm feeling."

"But you're getting much better."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are." Sara gave him a quick kiss. "And it's not that I don't love talking to you, but right now, I'm hungry."

"You only want me for my food?"

"Yes, Griss. It's time you faced the ugly truth. If Brass could cook better than you, well…"

"…I'm quite skilled in areas outside food preparation."

"Oh really? We should discuss that further."

"We should," he nodded in bemused agreement. Grissom guided Sara to one of the barstools then took a seat next to her. Ladling spaghetti into their two plates, he watched as she dug into the food like a woman possessed.

"Does that mean you like it, Sidle?"

"It means I'm famished, Grissom." She winked at him. "But yes, it's very good. 

"See, woman cannot live by scotch alone."

"Apparently," she concurred. A pall seemed to come over her as she lowered her fork to the plate and shivered slightly.

"What's the matter, Sara?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think I should be having…I mean, I should be feeling…God, Griss, I don't even know."

He set his own fork beside his plate and grasped her left hand in his. He froze at the brief hesitation on her part before she intertwined their fingers.

"It's the damned guilt again," she continued. "I'm sitting here laughing with you and enjoying myself and it doesn't seem right."

"Give yourself time, Sara. Twenty years of buried emotions is a lot to deal with."

"I know, Griss. Really, I do."

"You know it, intellectually, but it hasn't sunk in emotionally."

Sara threw her fork down and stood, frustration coloring her features. "I'm not emotionally retarded. Sometimes I think people just assume I am."

Grissom spun on the barstool to face her, his brow raised in unspent anger. "No, that's the easy way out. You can try to place me among the tremendous populace that does not know Sara Sidle, but it's not going to play. Not with me, Sara."

She considered his words and thought of walking out. She considered ignoring him and going into the bedroom. She considered asking him to leave her alone. 

What she did was stand, not moving. Tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She made no move to hide them or swat them away.

Grissom was torn. His response had provoked emotion and the urge to comfort her was almost overwhelming. However, he held back, hoping she could find the conclusion she needed.

More than a minute passed, as Sara stood, physically passive, tears streaming down her face. The grief was silent. No gasps. No choking sobs. 

"I hurt, Griss," her voice broke the silence.

It was more than difficult, but he remained sitting, his face seemingly impassive. "I know you do, Sara."

"I think I don't want to feel guilty anymore."

"Okay. We can work on that."

The stunned glaze was still in her eyes as the tears abated. "I'd like to visit Keith."

"Okay."

"Will you come with me, Griss?"

"I will."

"He's in a group home in Los Gatos."

"I'll go with you, Sara."

His words seemed to reassure her, as she raised a hand to wipe the lines her tears had left. "I haven't seen him in three years. It's just really hard." 

For the first time in several minutes, she looked directly at Grissom. He graced her with a reassuring smile and she saw her pain mirrored in his eyes.

Grissom rose and crossed the few feet to where Sara stood. They pulled one another into a much-needed embrace. 

"Thanks," she whispered in his ear.

"You did the hard part yourself, honey."

"I know, Griss. Thank you for loving me enough to let me."

****

The End


End file.
